A Game Best Played with Two
by ImaginationOnPaper
Summary: A plotting Pansy Parkinson gets Draco Malfoy to pretend to seduce Hermione Granger, a girl not know for her recklessness.  Draco thinks he has succeeded in his attempts, but Hermione isn't the brightest Witch of her age for nothing..
1. Insouciant

**For the purpose of this fic- The Trio is returning to Hogwarts to finish their 7th year after Voldemort's demise. **

_DISCLAIMER: I do not claim ownership over Harry Potter or its characters. They are not of my creation.

With that being said, Read on..

in·sou·ci·ant

_free from concern, worry, or anxiety; carefree; nonchalant._

As the Christmas holidays steadily approached, the Christmas spirit heightened by each passing day. Teachers, students, and ghosts alike were prone to smiles and festive feelings. Each year, it was as if the students had never before seen a Christmas tree, with all the sounds of excitement they made upon discovering the decorations in the Great Hall. The buzz in the air, and the tingle of excitement that was almost palpable put everyone in a cheerful mood.

Christmas was a time to put aside past differences, to embrace the spirit, and maybe even to fall in love… What better setting could be asked for? A castle- forbidding to those who don't know the comfort its interior brings- rises above a glittering lake, frozen solid for the winter. The snow that graces everything with its airy touch, also seems to blanket the grounds with a sense of hope, like something out of a picture book story.

Any burdens of the heart were lifted, worries were pushed to the far recesses of everyone's minds, and everything was done with an newfound vigor; an extra oomph. As for most students, the upcoming exams did nothing to squelch their moods, they simply went about their everyday things pretending not to realize that they still had to take a few tests before they were officially free for the holidays. Those with a more studious nature were often seen sitting in the library, poring over texts and notes, but even they could be caught staring dreamily out of the windows at the drifting snowflakes. Each House at Hogwarts was unique and vastly different, but if a stranger were to stumble into any one of the four common rooms, they would see the same scene in each. Students, lazily sitting around tables, warming up by the fire. Friends, whispering excitedly, laughing giddily. Classmates, all feeling the invisible whisper that seemed to hover above their heads: Christmas is coming.

Harry Potter, the boy who carried more titles than he wished to think about (The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, etc),and his best pal Ron Weasley, were only two out of the many Gryffindors who spent evenings sitting in front of the common room fire, inventing new combinations of candies to melt together and consume.

"Fizzing whizbees _and _licorice _dipped _in Butterbeer?" an incredulous Harry stared at Seamus, as he laughed raucously, waving his wand to bring his creation toward his open mouth.

The common room had emptied as the combinations became more and more _unique_ smelling, and soon the group had diminished to Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and Seamus.

"Mmmm mm mmm," Seamus chewed in delight, relishing in the disgust on Harry, and a few others faces. Neville blinked at a lump of sizzling orange something, and grimaced as it started bubbling. He threw it into the fire with a flick of his wand. Ron slouched against a cushion taken from a plush couch, a smudge of chocolate on his chin and a smile on his lips.

All in all, the lot of them were having an enjoyable, typical Friday night, when light footfalls echoed around the room, and a shadow appeared on the staircase to the girls dormitories, soon replaced by the night-robed figure of Hermione Granger. Her brown eyes, blinking quickly to try to dispel the sleepiness from her head, took in the sight before her.

Ginny's lips quirked in a smile, already anticipating her friend's reaction to the scene before her:

Neville, wide eyed, trying to sneak a bit of chocolate from Seamus. Harry, his hair in its usual disarray, sitting in the middle of a pile of chocolate frog wrappers. Ron, still lounging by the fire, not concerned with Hermione's appearance. Seamus had stuffed the rest of his candy in his mouth and started chewing to avoid any sort of quarrel.

Hermione simply stared at the group of them, absent-mindedly running a hand over the mass of hair on top of her head.

"Hermione! Fancy a melted chocolate frog with- What was this Neville? Toffy?" Ron had looked over to Neville, and then back to Hermione, a relaxed look on his face.

Hermione, for her part, did not react how she instinctively would have. Her first response would've been to tell them that they should be going up to bed, and didn't they have better things to do then eat sweets around a fire? She instead remained quiet, and frowned at Ron. They had been through so much, all of them, and although she never _forgot_ that only a year ago, they had been on the run for their lives, or forced to stay at Hogwarts, and endure what had become of their beloved school, sometimes she slipped into her old, bossy ways. She wasn't Head Girl, or prefect, and she didn't have any responsibilities, for the simple fact that as a War Hero, the Professors wanted her to have a relaxed year.

And even if she _did_ have duties, the boys plus Ginny weren't doing anything wrong. Nevertheless, Hermione had wanted to order them around, just to have something to do. Always the busy body, Hermione was not used to being free from worries, nothing to be in charge of, and no one to set in line. She reminded herself that they were just having fun, and almost begrudgingly, she smiled first at Ron, then Harry and Ginny.

"I just heard noises, and came down to check-"

"Hermione, sit, have a butterbeer!" Ginny had interrupted, moving aside to make room for Hermione.

"No, no, I just wanted to-"

"Oi, it won't kill you to loosen up." Ron said, fondly, but with a tone that was reserved for friends who knew each other too well.

Hermione had heard it many times before, Ron and Harry had used that tone on her on other occasions, but it had never struck the part of her as it did now. His words hit a deep part of her heart, and her brain clicked into place, and she frowned, feeling the full force of the words hit her. It was true, truer than Ron had even intended. Why had she come down? To check to make sure that they were all right? Or to make sure they weren't doing anything too fun?

She nodded at Ron, not wanting to give away how much his words had affected her. She glanced at Ginny, and saw her friend glance at her brother, then to Hermione, then back to Ron and purse her lips. Ginny frowned at Hermione in question, but Hermione shook her head slightly, letting Ginny know that nothing was wrong. She didn't even know what was wrong herself… Something had changed though, she knew.

Hermione wished each of them a goodnight in turn, and walked up the stairs back to her bed, and with each step came a ringing finality.

_Loosen…. Up….._

* * *

><p>"As if we haven't already done <em>that<em> a thousand times over," a bored Pansy said, twirling her wand idly in her fingers, and watching as it issued a spark every now and again.

"I rather like the game though!" Astoria Greengrass argued back to her fellow Slytherin.

"Muggles invented it, you realize that, don't you?" Pansy shot back condescendingly.

"Besides, letting a bottle choose who you kiss is absolutely stupid," She added.

"What do _you_ suggest, then, hm?" Astoria stood up and looked at Pansy briefly before flicking her gaze over to a figure hunched over a piece of parchment, the blonde hair standing out in the darkness of the room.

Pansy regarded her for a moment, before turning her gaze up to the ceiling and replying:

"You could fetch us some more Firewhisky, and then we could have a right good party."

Astoria huffed in frustration at Pansy, with whom she was friends with, but the latter didn't always tolerate the former.

Pansy was always up for drinking on a Friday night, and the other Slytherins usually went along with whatever was happening.

Astoria looked toward the pale blonde hair again, and spoke, saying, "Draco? Anything you'd like to do tonight?"

The sound of quill on paper stopped, and Draco looked around to face Astoria. He raised an eyebrow, and looked down pointedly toward the source of his attention.

"I _was_ doing something, actually. And it _is_ something I like." He glanced around the room, smirked at Pansy, and returned to his paper.

Astoria attempted to flit over to Draco and look at what he was writing, but he drew his wand from his robes and rolled the parchment up with a movement of his wrist. He got up and grabbed Pansy by the wrist roughly, dragging her upstairs to the boys dormitory, which was vacant, since few Slytherin boys had chosen to finish their seventh year at Hogwarts. Draco's mother had gotten a notion in her head that by sending her son back, he might somehow befriend the right people, and become a 'better person.' A laughable thought, if you asked Draco.

By taking Pansy upstairs with him, he had hoped to dispel Astoria's hope for a relationship with him, but Astoria was seemingly not fazed by the allusion he was making by going to his room, alone, with another girl.

As soon as Draco had shut the door behind them, Pansy shrugged off her robes and went over to his bed and sat on it calmly, watching his face. She sighed after a moment, and scooted towards the pillows at the head of his plush bed, and reclined there.

"I don't think she believes that we're doing anything X-Rated up here, Draco," Pansy said while idly playing with the fringe of a decorative pillow. It was rich green in hue, and like anything owned by a Malfoy, picked with expensive taste.

"Even though we mess around, and act as if we get up to naughty things when we're alone, everyone knows that we're friends, just friends.." Pansy trailed off, her fingers still playing with the pillow.

Draco still stood by the door, leaning his back against it.

"I can't deny that, Pans," Draco said with a slight smile, walking over to her.

"Everyone also knows that I am _not_ interested in Greengrass, even she herself must know I'm not interested, but the girl won't quit." He sat on his bed next to Pansy, and also leaned back on his pillows.

"You know I'd help you if I could, I don't really enjoy Astoria hanging around us all the time either. I'm waiting for the day you walk in your room and find her sprawled on your bed, naked," Pansy grimaced.

Draco's lips turned down in dissatisfaction at the thought of Astoria's bare body touching his sheets.

"I have to do _something_ to get her interests elsewhere. Maybe a bribe to a 6th year could be made? Well, maybe not a bribe, I suppose I could order one to-"

Draco paused at the malicious grin on Pansy's face. He raised an eyebrow in question, a smirk already starting on his mouth.

"You have an idea, I'm guessing? Let's hope it's a good one, and involves humiliation."

"_Tons_ of humiliation," Pansy purred, "And oh, this idea's a good one." Pansy's eyes met Draco's and her grin widened.

"You get Hermione Granger to sleep with you, or at the very least, make her spend the night with you, and when Astoria sees her climbing down the stairs in the morning, I bet the shock will hold her at bay for a decade, at least." Pansy finished, her grin still in place.

Draco, however, had stopped laughing.

"The Mudblood? When I said I hoped there would be humiliation, _I didn't mean I wanted to humiliate myself!_" Draco hissed, standing up.

"I'll have someone give Greengrass a love potion so she can follow Blaise around, or something. I will not associate myself with _Granger." _He sat back down on the bed with a finality.

Pansy was looking at Draco with a calculating look in her eyes, and Draco's short temper had not yet recovered from the insult of Pansy suggesting he seduce the Mudblood._._

"What? What the hell are you looking at me like that, for? Your idea was bloody stupid, and if you don't want to be helpful, the door is right over there." He narrowed his eyes at her, but she only chuckled lightly.

"You're getting awfully wound up over a simple suggestion of mine. I never said you had to get married to the filth, did I? Just use the Imperius curse to bring her up here for a few hours," Pansy said with a roll of her eyes at Draco's silliness.

Draco frowned even deeper, however.

"So you're implying I couldn't even get a Mudblood like her to want to come into my bedroom of her own will?"

"No, I think _you_ are scared of that yourself," Pansy shot back.

Draco snatched the pillow from underneath Pansy's resting elbow, causing her head to hit the headboard of the bed with a loud _thunk_.

"I don't know what you're playing at, suggesting something like that. " He spoke to her with a dangerous edge to his voice.

"I'm only saying that I've thought of a solution to your problems, and you refuse to consider it because you're afraid of rejection," Pansy said to his back, as he had turned away from her.

Draco's head snapped around to look at her, and he pulled himself on the bed so he could crawl closer to her.

"Rejection," Draco snarled in her face, his lip curling in distaste.

"Ha!" He laughed derisively. "I don't know what it's like to fear rejection. If dirt like _her_ had the chance to be seen with me, she'd jump at it. Come to think of it, if _anyone_ had that chance, they would, " He paused, and sat back on his bum, still looking at Pansy. His anger was dissolving as he smirked and said, "_You_ did."

Pansy's jaw clenched once and she drew an angry breath in.

"You just love to lord it over me that I _thought _I was in love with you. But how could I ever be in love with someone who was only interested in themselves? It's over with, anyhow," She closed the subject as she slid off of his bed, and rearranged her skirt.

Pansy smoothed down her collar and replaced her robes, careful to avoid Draco's eye, but he was already lost to the outside world and was instead stuck inside his own head, quarreling between two very opinionated parts of his brain.

One part was vehemently set against any notion that he couldn't attract the attentions of any female he so desired; the other part was a sad, depleted voice that questioned if actually could get someone like the Gryffindor Princess, who people liked more because of her amiable ways, and who was, he begrudgingly admitted, smarter than he was, to fall in love with him without the help of magic.

He snapped his eyes shut, and they rolled back into his head of their own accord to try and stop the impending headache. A conclusion had been reached without his consciously knowing it, but it was also at this moment that Pansy chose to place her index finger under his chin, her nail slightly digging into his flesh, so the fleeting decision that had been coming to the surface was lost.

"It's a shame we're such good friends. I wouldn't mind pretending to have shagged you," Pansy smirked in a way reminiscent of Draco's own.

She flounced out of the room, appearing to all the world as the smug Slytherin she was known to be, but internally, she was distraught. Distraught with the memory of Draco's ease when he spoke of her past affections for him. Obviously, he wasn't aware that she wished he really _was_ taking her upstairs so they could be alone together, instead of seeking her help in bringing about the heartbreak of another poor unfortunate soul who had been entranced by the charming, notorious, Malfoy heir.


	2. Eloquent

***- Just in case someone wasn't sure, I am not, nor do I claim to be J. K. Rowling, and therefore I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. (Although a girl can dream..)**

El·o·quent

1. _Having or exercising the power of fluent, forceful, and appropriate speech._

2._ Characterized by forceful and appropriate expression_

3._ Movingly expressive._

Whenever Hermione Granger was trying to gather her thoughts, she undertook a physical task- one that was strenuous enough that she had to put most of her effort into the chore and not into mulling over whatever issues were pressing on her mind.

Saturday morning, Hermione awoke and mused, _"The bottom of my trunk could probably use rearranging," _and with that, she took to emptying out her already neatly packed trunk, while Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil shifted quietly in their beds, still asleep.

Robes, skirts, shirts and socks came out of the large, leather trunk first- followed by rolls of parchment and quills. Hermione placed these in neat groups around her kneeling body, while absentmindedly biting her bottom lip and reflecting over all that had happened last night.

After she had gone upstairs -to the disappointment of Ginny, who had been hoping Hermione would spend time with her friends and smile like her old self- she lay down in her bed, covers pulled up to her shoulders, and stared up at the ceiling, not really seeing it.

_I'm not trying to ruin their fun.. I still like having fun… Don't I ? But aren't we too old to be playing with our food, anyway? _

_No, _she told herself firmly.

_We are definitely not too old to have some enjoyment in the simple things of life, and if being silly around a fire was how they chose to relax, that is perfectly fine._

_We don't have to act like we're adults; we've had the weight of the world on our shoulders once, and school is the place where we can throw our heads back and have fun, because we don't have to worry- we have friends who care about us, and only want the best for us… _

Hermione resolutely took out a pile of books from the bottom of her trunk, her mind's eye leaving the memory of the previous night.

Along with her battered copy of _Hogwarts: A History_, and the first edition of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ that Dumbledore had left her, a small, red leather journal had come out of the recesses of her trunk. It had been on the bottom of a pile of the books she read regularly, but Hermione could remember buying the journal for herself while at Flourish and Blotts last year, with the intention of recording her daily endeavors and thoughts. With a quick flip through its pages, Hermione saw that she had not gone through with her plans. Hermione stroked her thumb over the hard leather thoughtfully. Growing up in a Muggle household, she had often heard that writing in a diary was a great way to channel one's thoughts. Although she was a curious and experimental child, she had never taken to the idea of writing her emotions down on a paper that anyone could find and read. Now that she was an educated witch, she knew that if someone wanted to get into your thoughts, they wouldn't have to rifle through papers to uncover your secrets.

Hermione opened the journal to the first page; it was clean, and white. A hopeful feeling overcame her as her eyes surveyed the blank page, and she smiled to herself as her she felt a flutter of excitement in her belly. Placing the journal almost reverently upon her bed, Hermione quickly returned her clothes and books to the trunk. After she had locked it, Hermione sat in the middle of her bed, tucking her knees under herself comfortably. The journal sat at the foot of her bed, and she looked at it a moment, before glancing over to Lavender's bed, where a soft mumble had reminded Hermione that her friends were still asleep, and that the sun had only risen not too long ago.

Somehow between the moment when Hermione had first looked at the emptiness of her old journal and now, her subconscious had made the decision that she would put her journal to use. Hermione knew that there were ways to invade someone's mind without their consent, but she didn't worry about her friends using Legilimency on her. Having come to the conclusion that she actually _did _want to try to write down and sort through her thoughts on paper, she knew that although her mind was safe from prying eyes, a journal might not be. Hermione took her wand from her bedside table, and lightly tapping the cover of the journal, she muttered, "Sed videro*," a spell that ensured she would be the only one to read her thoughts.

Feeling accomplished with herself, Hermione took off her pyjamas and replaced them with a casual combination of jeans and a fleece sweater. With her bag slung over her shoulder, she set out for the library, reveling in the fact that she would have it all to herself at this early hour. Since it was a Saturday, she would probably be able to avoid other people until at least noon.

Upon entering the place where she had grown comfortable in over the past six years, Hermione knew that she had made the right choice. She could sort out her confused feelings on paper, and then she wouldn't continue feeling so frazzled.

She took out a quill, preferring to write manually than to enchant one to write for her.

_Hermione Granger December 20th_

She paused, quill poised on the next line, unsure of how to begin.

_I many times thought peace had come,_

_When peace was far away;_

_As wrecked men deem they sight the land_

_At centre of the sea,_

_And struggle slacker, but to prove,_

_As hopelessly as I,_

_How many the fictitious shores_

_Before the harbor lie._

A poem she had always admired - by a poet her parents had introduced her to when she was still a child- seemed like just the thing to write on the very first page of her journal, and after that, the words to express her emotion came smoothy, the scratching of her quill echoing throughout the vast library. Hermione was lost to the world as she sat in a secluded corner of the library, letting her words flow from her hand into the ink on her paper.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>Ungh-" Draco Malfoy choked out as he woke up, his bedsheets thrown on the floor. He sat bolt upright, heart pounding.

His eyes darted to the empty beds in the Slytherin Seventh Year boy's dorm, not sure what he had been expecting. Of course the beds would be bare and unused, his only other roommate, Blaise Zabini, hardly ever spent the night in his own room, but Draco, recalling to mind what had woken him up, couldn't help but to glance around the room again.

He threw his legs around so that his feet could touch the cold floor, as he worked to desperately sort out the thoughts flashing through his mind.

A dream had jerked him out of his sleep. No, not a dream. Some sort of.. Sleep deprivation induced nightmare.

_Pansy Parkinson, wearing an ill-fitting red dress, moved around the empty common room as if practicing some sort of dance. She was smiling at him, and was starting to spin, the dress whipping around her body. Spinning faster and faster, she became a blur, until she stumbled and fell onto her hands and knees, face hidden by a curtain of her hair._

Draco rolled his neck to the side and felt the soreness of a bad rest. He must have thrashed around during the night.

_Draco reached a hand out to help Pansy up, except she swung her head up to look at him before he could offer, and his hand hug stiffly outstretched between them. It wasn't Pansy's muddy brown eyes that stared intently at him. These eyes were a deep chocolate brown. Hermione was looking at him unwaveringly as she slowly stood up from her position on the ground._

Brown eyes! How did he know what bloody color Granger's eyes were? Why didn't he recoil at the sight of her in their common room? What the _fuck_ was she doing in his dream, anyway?

_The dress fit her body as if it was made for her; it flowed from her shoulders down to her knees in a shade of red that Draco realized must symbolize Gryffindor. _

_Hermione shook out her hair, which was now sleek and long, and opened her mouth to speak. He stood, transfixed, as a voice spoke. It was his mother's voice, coming out of Hermione's lips. _

_"We cannot measure how perfect a soul is based on the scars its body holds," Narcissa's voice said softly._

He shook his head, trying to physically shake sense into himself. Not only did he dream that Pansy had somehow morphed into that Mudblood, but he dreamed that his Mother was talking through her, trying to give him vague words of wisdom? If that wasn't a sign that this school was finally making him crack, he didn't know what was.

_And then Hermione had taken his right hand into her left, and raised her right hand to drag her fingertips lightly down his cheek. Only, as soon as she touched his face, he was filled with memories of what had happened in his house when Voldemort was still accommodating himself there. Hermione, writhing on the floor under Bellatrix's curses, screaming in agony- an agony that pierced right through Draco, into his soul-_

Salazar save him! He had lost it. The pain from his dream had physically woken him up, and he had no explanation for it other than that his brain had imploded. When his Aunt had sent curse after curse at Granger last spring, he had been uncomfortable hearing her scream so much, but he didn't feel pity or remorse for her. For 17 years, he had been raised to treat those who were not pure of blood as lessors, and being a Mudblood was the lowest of the low. Voldemort had been defeated by Harry Potter, but just because the Dark Lord was gone doesn't mean that 17 years of Draco's life were gone, too. He, just as almost every other Slytherin, still held themselves above everyone else. Which is why Draco's dream frightened him so badly. The more he tried to convince himself that it was nothing, the more his subconscious pushed him to believe otherwise. Insecurity bubbled to the surface of his mind, and last night's events merged with his dream. What if he was dreaming about _her_ because he really believed he couldn't make her want him?

Draco laughed; it was a short, desperate sound. That couldn't be true. He laughed a little more, and this time it came out more naturally. He was a _Slytherin_, wasn't he? Deception was what he was best at. He was cunning and handsome- if he set his sights on someone, they were powerless to his charm.

Not one to beat around the bush, Draco set out to put his plan into action.

* * *

><p>* This is not a real spell from the series, I made this up for the purpose of my story. It is Latin, translating to "Only I shall see."<p> 


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